


Courtships and Friendships

by gentlezombie



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Open Relationship, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2340254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are just going to have a talk. Honest.</p>
<p>Set after "Sleight of Hand" (01x02) where the Queen and Aramis are Not Subtle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtships and Friendships

**Author's Note:**

> This started as friendly banter, then quickly degenerated into porn. That sort of keeps happening.
> 
> Also hello new fandom I've been obsessively stalking! I've been in love with Dumas's books for so long, and suddenly (finally) there's an incredibly lovely adaptation and an actual fandom! Words cannot express my joy. There will most definitely be more fic from me. Whether there'll be something with an actual plot remains to be seen...

”Really, Aramis? The Queen of France?” Porthos stage-whispers at Aramis across the table. The words get lost in the din of the tavern.

Aramis bats his eyelashes at him, the very picture of wounded innocence. Of course, he doesn’t fool Porthos for a moment.

“You’re reaching so far above your station you might as well fuck one of God’s own angels.”

“Wasn’t Jacob blessed for grappling with an angel?” Aramis smiles sweetly and lets his tongue curl around the words to make them just the right side of filthy, just because he can.

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same sort of wrestling here, or else the Holy Book has a lot more going for it than I remember. Stop trying to use distraction tactics on me.”

“Always so crude! Porthos, I am smitten by her. Mine is a knightly love, pure and virtuous.” Aramis takes the diamond cross he wears all too openly and lifts it to his lips. The gesture is somewhat ruined because he can’t help grinning at Porthos.

Porthos snorts. “You might want to stop fellating that love-token, then.”

“Your mind is always in the gutter, my friend.”

“I’ve had good company there. Until recently.”

“Are you saying you miss me?”

Porthos takes a swig of his bottle. “Nah. Never could get a wink of sleep for all your snoring.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason for you being deprived of sleep.”

Porthos smiles at that, finally. “No. But you do snore afterwards.”

That is vile slander indeed. Luckily Aramis is feeling magnanimous tonight, and perhaps also slightly lonely; the thought of going home alone or with a stranger holds no appeal.

“Would you be terribly opposed to losing some more sleep tonight?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be the faithful knightly lover?” Porthos says and glances down at Aramis’s hand which has strayed to his thigh.

“I am well capable of staying faithful to more than one person at a time.”

There it is, a full-on smile, the worried kicked-dog frown morphing into laugh-lines.

“I don’t think you’ve quite caught on to the concept.” Porthos covers Aramis’s hand with his own under the table.

“On the contrary, other people seem to feel the need to complicate their lives unnecessarily.” Aramis tries to move his hand and finds himself trapped.

“Looking for something uncomplicated, are you?”

Aramis lets out a forlorn sigh. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure this loving from afar business is for me. It’s making me miserable.”

“And?”

“And I’ve missed you, you oaf.”

Porthos’s grin is blinding enough for Aramis to almost forgive him for prodding him to the confession. 

“Calling me names already. I don’t think I like that.”

“So maybe you should do something about it.”

And so it goes, their customary teasing escalating until it becomes something else entirely. Porthos gets up and lays a hand on the back of Aramis’s neck, knocking his hat askew. Aramis reaches for the delicate feathered affair to keep it from tumbling to the dirty floor, and Porthos uses the opportunity to pull him up by the scruff of his neck, still holding onto the bottle of wine with his other hand.

“We’ll call it a night, lads”, he announces. Aside from grins and good-natured jokes yelled at them, no one comments on the manner of their leaving, used to the way they fill each other’s spaces.

“This is hardly necessary”, Aramis says conversationally as he is guided through the streets of Paris like a caught stray. It’s not the first time, and it’s not that he minds. The steady weight of Porthos’s hand is both reassuring and promising.

“I think it’s up to me to decide what’s necessary tonight”, Porthos says in a low voice, his beard tickling Aramis’s ear. “All right?” His hand squeezes a bit, strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of Aramis’s neck.

“It’s like that, is it?” Aramis says, his mouth gone a bit dry. He steals the bottle from Porthos with nimble fingers and takes a deep swig. This is what he’s been missing during all these weeks of impossible daydreams and political intrigue. “Yes, all right.”

He’s sometimes considered giving this up. In his maddest moments, weighted down by morals and expectations he’ll never be able to meet, it seems easier to let go. Lately, he’s simply been too distracted by other things – by a beautiful face hiding steely intelligence, by the grace and bearing of a queen.

But when it comes down to it, there are some things he considers even more valuable. Companionship and trust. The constants which keep his life from spiralling into chaos.

And what he has with Porthos is honestly too good to give up. He delights in the shivers that pass down his spine at the way Porthos casually manhandles him in public, glances to his companion to see if he’s noticed. Of course he has. Porthos’s lips quirk into a knowing smile.

“You’re way too easy to wind up, you know”, Porthos says as they clamber up the low staircase to Aramis’s apartment.

“It’s because you know me too well.”

“That I do.”

Aramis’s back hits the door as soon as the door slams shut. He’s pinned there with his lover’s bulk, their whole bodies pressed together and Porthos’s forearm resting against his throat for better measure. Aramis closes his eyes and inhales deeply, savouring the smell of leather and sweat and the constricting presence against his throat. It’s perfect.

“Kiss me already, damn you”, he says. His hands reach up impatiently to pull Porthos down by his short hair, and when his mouth is claimed harshly it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. He can let go, he can let Porthos take over and trust him not to hold it against him.

It's not in Aramis’s nature to stay idle, though. His hands wander restlessly, guiding Porthos’s mouth where he wants it. He pushes a leg between them where they are pressed together so very close and gets a growl out of his friend.

Porthos obliges him for the moment. His beard scratches Aramis’s neck where he finds all the right places to kiss and bite and tease. The spot below his chin has Aramis whimpering in a way that should probably embarrass him. He rubs his leg none too discreetly against Porthos’s crotch, just in case he’s forgotten where this is supposed to be going, and earns a breathless laugh.

“Bed. Now”, Porthos says in that delightfully gruff voice that always emerges on these occasions. He grabs the back of Aramis’s thighs, and Aramis takes that as his cue to wrap his legs around his lover’s waist with an unselfconscious ease that’s hard to reach with anyone else. He likes to give Porthos opportunities to show off his strength, revels in that in fact, and he knows his friend likes it too. They stay there, kissing until they are breathless and their muscles start to tremble.

Aramis taps at Porthos’s arm and he’s dropped to the bed with little ceremony. They busy themselves getting rid of clothing that might otherwise take damage. Finally they are gloriously naked, and Porthos is sitting on Aramis’s waist, holding his hands above his head. There’s a familiar wicked glint in his eyes.

Aramis welcomes the respite, this chance to simply exist on the whim of another. He’s often been called greedy, but in truth he’s always giving. It’s always him doing the seducing, and although he loves the thrill and the art of it, sometimes it’s good to just let go, to be swept away in turn. Although no one’s complained about his passion as a lover – and he does take good care of his reputation in that area – there’s always a little calculating corner in his mind counting possibilities, running through the minute but crucial choices which may lead to further encounters, favours, smiles.

With Porthos, there’s no need for that. He can simply ask for what he wants and content himself with the reply, or ask for the choice to be taken away from him. It’s play without a hint of pretence. Their games often seem to end something like this – with Aramis stretched out on his stomach on the bed, opened up by fingers and tongue until he’s torn between rubbing against the mattress to ease the ache in his cock and lifting his hips to beg wordlessly to be fucked. Usually he’s all for a slow burn and drawn-out lovemaking, but Porthos’s knowing touch lights him up in a glorious, carefree way which makes him want to hurl himself off the precipice.

“Come on”, Aramis huffs, and that earns him a slap which makes him whine, and another one for good measure. The twinge of embarrassment and pleasure heats up his face. In truth, he should be used to this – it’s nothing he hasn’t done with other lovers, but with Porthos everything holds added meaning and weight. He feels overwhelmingly present, without masks, without pretence. “Porthos! What have I done now?”

“What haven’t you done?” Porthos chuckles, and Aramis can just hear the smug smile in his voice. “But this isn’t about any of that.” 

Porthos leans over him and Aramis lets out a satisfied sigh at the feel of his lover’s weight at his back, but it’s only to capture his straying hands and position them above his head again.

“Forgotten already, have you? I decide what we do, and when, and how, tonight”, Porthos says close to Aramis’s ear. “That’s what you wanted, and that’s exactly what you’ll get. And right now I want to worship your lovely arse a bit more.”

Somehow Porthos always knows how to pick the right words, or maybe it’s just his voice, a dark purr in Aramis’s ear, full of promise. Aramis shifts restlessly under him. This is still strange territory for him, the way something in him sings at the thrill of surrendering himself utterly. 

“Arse up and keep your hands where they are”, Porthos warns him.

“Or what?” Aramis can’t help asking because that’s what he does – never learns to leave well enough alone, always curious for something new, something more.

“Or I’ll make you.” Porthos bites at his earlobe none too gently, and he shudders. “Come on, now.”

Aramis swallows further remarks, mostly because he really is quite desperate to get on with things, and he gets his knees under him, his upper body still bowed down on the bed. Porthos strokes a hand down his spine in approval and rewards him with a slap which rocks his body forward. Porthos’s hands are huge, and he knows exactly where to strike to light up a pleasant burn or an intense, lingering hurt.

Aramis is generally not quiet in bed when he can get away with it, and especially not during this. He pants and yelps and curses as more slaps rain down on his arse and thighs, the burn intensifying to a point where he’s not sure whether it’s too much or not enough. Every strike goes straight to his cock.

He sags forward as Porthos stops for a moment, equal parts grateful and disappointed at the respite. He lets go of the sheets he’s been fisting, curls his fingers and takes few deep breaths. Porthos is trailing his fingers lightly over the marks he’s left. Aramis’s breathing hitches as fingers part his cheeks. If this were to lead to the fucking, finally, he’d have no complaints, but he’s got dark suspicions.

Porthos’s thumb circles his hole, brushes right over it, the touch feather-light and maddening. Aramis turns to glare at his lover. That’s when the first slap lands right _there_. There’s hardly any force behind it, only the tips of blunt fingers meeting impossibly sensitive flesh, but the sensation is incredible. The intimate hurt lights up his whole body. He stares at his lover, for once at a loss for words. Whatever Porthos sees on his flushed face has him smiling gently, knowingly, even as his fingers play with the reddened flesh. Aramis shifts and hisses but doesn’t make a move to get away from the exquisite torment.

“Would you like me to go on?”

The bastard is making him say it, making him ask for more. Aramis suspects Porthos just likes the sound of it; he himself has never been above begging in these matters.

“Please”, he says, half-muffled by the pillow. “Please continue.”

There’s a moment’s pause, as though Porthos was actually considering.

“Your wish ain’t my command, but I think I will. I think I want that very much.”

And Porthos does go on, slapping and teasing Aramis into a whimpering mess. There comes a point where he absolutely can’t take it anymore, can’t hold still and wait for it. He isn’t taking back control, isn’t really in control of himself at all as he turns blindly to kiss Porthos, climbs into his lap. His movements would seem laughably clumsy were he in any state of mind to care, but right now his heart feels too big for his chest and he is desperate.

“Porthos, for the love of God, fuck me or I’ll do it myself.” He isn’t even making any sense. Porthos’s cock is pressing between his cheeks, he’s still slick and open from earlier, and he needs it right now.

“Whatcha need me for, then?” Porthos is still teasing him, but Aramis can feel the trembling in his thighs, the effort it takes for him to stay still. Aramis leans in to kiss him once more, slower but no less insistent, his fingers twisting in Porthos’s short hair, holding him close. They’ve both waited long enough.

He reaches for Porthos’s cock and lowers himself down on it, hisses as the head presses against sensitive skin where he can still feel the heat left by Porthos’s hand. He lets himself fall into the sensation, suspended in the moment where the blunt pressure of Porthos’s cock breaches him slowly. They’re still kissing, only with more bite than before, and that too is good, right. He’s closed his eyes but he opens them when Porthos’s hands clamp down on his hips. Porthos is looking at him like he can’t quite believe he’s real.

He meets Porthos’s eyes as he sinks all the way down. It usually takes him some effort, but now he’s too far gone, too open in every way. It makes everything easy. And when Porthos leans in to kiss him with just the right amount of violence and tackles him to the bed, that too is perfectly fitting.

“Almost thought you took me at my word”, Aramis grounds out, a breathless laughter tickling at his throat as Porthos takes a firm grip of his wrists and slams into him with all the purpose of a man who is intent on proving himself.

“I’d never make that mistake.” There’s that grin again, and Aramis does love it, being in bed with someone with whom he can laugh and joke and let go, all the fireworks and thrills but none of the danger. He crosses his ankles behind Porthos’s back and holds on as he is fucked without mercy, just the way he likes.

Later, when they’re boneless and satisfied and too tired to bicker about the proper arrangement of limbs to fit one perfectly well-proportioned gentleman and one bloody giant in one bed, Porthos breaks the comfortable silence.

“Did I surprise you?”

Aramis doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “Congratulations.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

Aramis swats at him. ”I wish you’d stop trying to find ways to surprise me in bed. That could get disturbing pretty quickly.”

“And?”

He sighs. “It wasn’t anything I’d tried personally, no. And I quite enjoyed it.” He flops an arm over his face. “Why do I always let you talk me into confessions?”

“Because you like to confess. And because it’s the only time I get to see you embarrassed.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Yeah.”

The silence continues for a bit, but now Aramis’s mind has woken up.

“I can’t promise to give up on her, you know.”

“You could, if you wanted to.”

He sighs. “But I don’t, so it makes no difference.”

The Queen is a distant figure, a mystery, another facet of the face of God. And she is also earthly, and beautiful, and deserving of his sympathy. Already she has shown him something of himself. He can’t let go of her, not easily, if at all.

“Athos will kill you. But you already know that.”

“No death-threats from you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me anyhow.”

Aramis smiles.

“I’m lucky like that.”

“I don’t like it, mind. It’s too dangerous.”

Aramis props himself up on one elbow. “Jealous?”

Porthos huffs. “You give yourself too much credit. No, never that.”

Aramis raises an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe sometimes a bit of that. But the way I see it, not even the Queen’s going to have what I’ve got with you.” The dingy little room, sunlight falling on discarded clothes and weapons, sweat sticking skin to skin. What matters is who they are and what they are together. There is no replicating that. Porthos runs his hand over the bruises on Aramis’s hips, the swell of his arse. “I think especially not the Queen.”

Aramis might make a quip about her being full of surprises, but he appreciates the simple way Porthos has of spelling out the truths of his life too much for that.

“You’ve got me there”, he says and leans in for a kiss. “You’ve got me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are, as always, greatly appreciated!


End file.
